


About You

by LetThereBeDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Best Friends, Cas in love, Emails, Fluff, Love Poems, M/M, Rock Star AU, Sort Of, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 06:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17782319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetThereBeDestiel/pseuds/LetThereBeDestiel
Summary: Dean and Castiel were best friends in high school, but haven't technically seen each other since. It's 5 years later, Dean is out there doing his thing, Castiel is still hung up on him, and they're still emailing practically every night. When Dean says in an interview that his new single is about a special person in his life he wishes he could be with, Castiel is heartbroken. And he waits for that person to show up, or for Dean to reach out to them.But nothing happens.So he decides to take another look at the lyrics. And that's when some of Dean's descriptions start to sound familiar.





	About You

**1 Jan 2019, 22:45**

**From: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**To: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**Hey, Cas.**

**It’s been a while since I wrote you, I know. Tour Life takes up so much from my time now.**

The familiar words spread inside Castiel’s chest and spark warmth inside it.

**Okay. Since you take everything so literally, I’ll say it and ruin my own joke: I’m kidding. Errr, let’s see… What’s happened in the twenty one hours since we last spoke? I had some pie. It was great. Pecan.**

**Someone said to me this week that they think my lyrics are really clever, and it got me thinking. I know we’re friends and all, but I’m worried I might’ve left… The right impression on you, you could say. See, I don’t really try to sound all fancy with you, and when it comes down to it, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, so… You know, if I come across as stupid sometimes… It’s because I am.**

**Anyway. Today is all about you. I wanna hear how the exam went. Do you think you passed? Imagine that, you teaching in a classroom… That’s crazy. I still think of us as seventeen, I guess. Where did the Student Days go?**

**So. Tell me all about that. And go study, I know you’re procrastinating by reading this email. And definitely don’t search up the last episode of the Late Late Late Show on YouTube. STUDY. GO. Don’t even reply to this.**

**see you round.**

**-D**

 

The Late Late Late Show?

 

**1 Jan 2019, 23:17**

**From: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**To: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**Dean,**

**the Late Late Late Show?**

**Yes, of course I’m studying. Hard. I’m not Googling that right now. YouTube-ing?**

The page loads, and Castiel’s heart rate accelerates: the first result has the picture of Dean in a suit, sitting on a leather couch and smiling at the host like a dreamy rock star.

Well, not _like_ a rock star.

The title reads: _I Still Wish: Behind Dean Winchester’s New Song Lyrics._

**Oh, Lord. Your first interview? That must have been nerve racking. I didn’t know you released a new single. I try not to stalk you too much on social media, you know. That would be weird.**

He reads the last few lines again, and deletes them immediately. Creep.

Alright. Deep breath. He deletes the entire content of the email, and starts anew.

**Dean.**

Actually, he should watch the interview before he writes Dean back, anyway. He clicks the link and leans back in his chair.

Applause come out of his laptop speakers as the camera glides above the audience and settles in front of Dean and the Late Late Late Show host, Crowley.

“It’s an honor to be here,” says screen-Dean, sending a nervous grin towards the host.

Dean.

Rock star Dean.

Grinning, in a suit. He scratches his neck self consciously, and Crowley opens the interview.

“So, Dean. This is your first love song in a while, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Screen-Dean smiles awkwardly, his eyes dropping to the floor for a second. “I don’t got too many o’ those.”

“I’d like to ask you about the lyrics, but first, let’s satisfy the thirst of the fans for the most important question: is there a special someone in your life right now, to inspire those lyrics?”

Dean’s smile becomes somewhat provoked, and there’s a spark in his eyes that Castiel knows all too well. His silent resentment, not overcoming his emotions, but making him bold.

“There were two things on my mind when I wrote the lyrics,” he says, subtly ignoring Crowley’s question, and his eyes flicker to the camera for half a moment. Castiel takes a shallow breath, trying to restore the air that’s been punched out of his lungs. Seeing Dean’s face, his hand gestures, come to life in front of him for the first time in five years takes him aback. And if he had any doubt until now, it’s vanished, it’s completely gone.

“Well, except for the person it’s about. The first…”

Crowley nods his head. Dean starts speaking about double standards and society’s expectations, and Castiel watches his lips distractedly. The words float around in his mind like a fog, blurring every other thought. _The person it’s about._ Has Dean mentioned anyone new in their emails? They had been sending emails back and forth for as long as they were out of school and away from each other, and in the past few months they’ve been writing each other practically every day. Despite Castiel's studies. Despite Dean’s music, and his tours, and his tens of thousands of fans. Despite the distance, Dean still calls him his best friend. And in spite of himself, that thought still makes Castiel’s heart beat a little faster.

And now he might have to share the space in Dean’s heart with some other stranger. Because Dean wrote a love song. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

In the video, Crowley says something and Dean’s attentive expression breaks into a smile. “The other,” he continues whatever he was talking about, “Is this wild sway between what we say and what we feel. ‘ _I’ll give you everything- I mean, would you like to date me? The diamond ring is sized and paid for’  -_ The mask of nonchalance we have to put on in order not to come off as sentimental, because emotion is weakness in this world…” Was that part of the lyrics? Castiel squints at the screen and grabs his phone to search up the song, but Crowley’s words pull him back into the interview.

“Not being able to admit how strong your feelings are.”

“Yes,” Dean says, and there’s passion in his voice now; he’s making a point. “But also society’s expectations of you to keep everything inside. I can’t just come to this person and say, listen, dude, you’re my entire world. Even if I think they feel the same way, I’m still expected – especially as a man – to pretend like I don’t care as much as I do.”

“Dean, that brings me to another question. In the lyrics, you seem to repeatedly address the subject using male pronouns. Do you consider this as sort of a… coming-out-to-your-fans song?”

Screen-Dean meets the host’s eyes and lets out an earnest laughter. Crowley responds with a polite smile, awaiting his reaction, but Dean’s eyes level with his and he does not fold.

“Well, then. Could you tell us more about how the lyrics connect to your personal life?”

That, Dean seems keener to answer. “The lyrics are directly inspired by my personal life. I used fake names, of course, to maintain the privacy of the people involved, but the emotion is all the same. Recently I’ve… I’ve found myself very frustrated with how deeply my choices are affected by what I fear people might think of me. I don’t wanna live that way anymore.”

 

*

 

**8 Jan 2019, 23:16**

**From: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**To: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**Dean,**

**My sincerest apologies for not writing back sooner.**

**I watched your interview; you were great. I’m glad for whatever choices you seem to stop wanting to make, and I’m happy for you and the new person in your life. They’re very lucky to have you.**

**I also listened to your new song.**

That’s a lie.

**It is, as usual, great. You’re so talented – I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that I’m friends with a rock star. Where _did_ the Student Days go?**

But every other word is true. He just… He’s listened to every single song of Dean’s as soon as he was able to since they were sixteen, Dean playing around with a guitar in his bedroom and Castiel tucked into a corner of the small room, watching him. And every song was more clever and funny and well thought out than the last. But almost none of them were about love. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love, not really. And that fact is what Castiel has been holding onto for way too long. But now… Something’s changed, it seems.

He wanted to listen, he did. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

**So…**

He takes a deep breath.

**Who’s the lucky person, and should you introduce us so I can scare them away? (as, to quote you, I _“have that effect on people.”_ )**

**I think it’s great, though. I’m glad you’re doing well.**

**Cas**

**11 Jan 2019, 16:50**

**From: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**To: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**Cas,**

**You liked the song? Really? To be honest, I was pretty nervous about you listening to it, but… that’s beyond the point now, I guess.**

**Hey, when did I ever say you have that effect on people?!**

**Don’t worry your introverted heart – I won’t make you meet anyone anytime soon, I’m afraid. I’m not exactly dating that person, or anything close to it. So… that’s that.**

**On another note – do you realize we’re in the same city now? Just for a few weeks, but still. We should get a coffee sometime. I’m catching a train upstate on Jan twentieth, so if you wanna make up an excuse for why you can’t leave the house, that’s the time frame where your lizard should have the flu or something. See you around, maybe?**

**-D**

**11 Jan 2019, 16:55**

**From: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**To: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**Dean.**

**I’d love to meet with you, but my imaginary lizard is truly in an unacceptable condition to be left alone for the next few months, or so. Our deepest apologies.**

**Alright, don’t be mad. I lied. I haven’t listened to your song yet. But- I’m sure it’s great. I am. You’re great. I was just…**

**Never mind.**

**You said that to me last week, when I told you about High School Garth’s cat I had tried and failed to hug because it ran away from me as if I came at it with a three edged blade. You said: “you have that effect on people”, and promptly corrected yourself to “***CATS!!” You claimed it was a brain typo, and I claimed it was a Freudian slip. So… that’s that. (:**

**Cas**

Biting his lip and tapping his fingertips anxiously to the side of his laptop, Castiel’s index finger hovers above the mouse clicker. He presses play and closes his eyes as Dean’s voice fills the room. He listens to the song – an upbeat, catchy rhythm that contradicts the ironic meaning behind its words. The kind of song you wouldn’t guess was anything but a happy love song if you hadn’t paid close enough attention to the lyrics. And as the song comes to an end, a small voice in the back of Castiel’s mind starts nagging him to, actually, pay closer attention to the lyrics. Because there’s something familiar about them. So he hits play again, and opens up the song on ZAlyrics.

And slowly, as the sweeping tune takes over his mind, the pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place.

 

_Tell me, do we know each other from the supermarket?_

_‘Cause your eyes strike me like a ball someone hit with a racket._

_Did you fall from heaven, do you live around the corner?_

_I’d like to buy you coffee. Can I be your organ donor?_

_Man, you’ve got nice eyes, I’ll be the first to notice,_

_But I don’t think you think that I’m more interesting than fossils._

_I’ll give you everything- I mean, would you like to date me?_

_The diamond ring is sized and paid for- hold on, who is Amy?_

_Sara, Rosie, Violet, all those names you might regret._

_If you date me, what you’ll get is bad card tricks and student debt._

_Don't you wanna be with me? Honey, it's long time, no see_

_Don't you ever feel that things are different than they used to be?_

_Don't you wonder what might be if I were to cross the sea?_

_Don't you wonder what could be, if this was just you and me?_

 

_Tell me, just between us, am I coming on too needy?_

_Drives me crazy not to know if you would like to kiss me_

_Sure, I could just tell you how I feel and get it done with,_

_But where's the fun in honest feelings? I'll just stick with **what if**._

_Honey, if you like me then let's take a trip to Spain,_

_But if you don't, I hope your face gets totalled by a plane._

_If you call her baby doll, I hope she turns into a troll_

_Dating me, you'll get it all- free supplies of alcohol_

_Don't you wanna be with me? Honey, it's long time, no see_

_Don't you ever feel that things are different than they used to be?_

_Don't you wish you could be here instead of far across the sea?_

_Doesn't it just kill you not to know what you and I could be?_

 

_Baby, I'm a package deal- abs and DOA career_

_Boy, I'm everything you want- daddy issues, but I'm hot_

_I'm not a catch, that much is clear_

_But... I still wish that you were here._

One thing is apparent: this song was written for a man. That doesn’t come as any sort of surprise for Castiel, except, maybe, that he didn’t imagine Dean would want to broadcast it to the entire world so soon. And it might be completely crazy, maybe even arrogant, but he thinks he might have an idea as to who’s the guy Dean had in mind while writing that song. He just needs to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

He starts by researching the making of _I Still Wish_ and tracking Dean’s writing of the lyrics. On July 29th, Dean posted a tweet: _Has anyone actually met their partner in the supermarket?_

To which, of course, the third comment was _I met the love of my life in the supermarket!! <3<3 _To which Dean commented, _Ha. I’m sorry for you, man._

July twenty ninth. Dean was in Europe all summer for his first tour.

And then, there’s them not seeing each other since they graduated high school…

He grabs a pen and a piece of paper, and starts to copy Dean’s lines onto the page.

 

_***** Dean says in the interview that not everything is literal. The names are fake and the scenes are meant to demonstrate a scenario where one wants to say something upfront but can’t due to society’s rules. _

_***** “Long time no see”: haven’t seen the person he’s talking about in a long time._

_***** “Things are different than they used to be”: suggests that there exists a relationship that has developed and changed over time._

_***** “Cross the sea”: was far away from said person while writing the song._

_***** “Don’t you wonder what could be”: doesn’t know whether the other person feels the same way._

 

They haven’t seen each other in five and a half years. They used to be friends – best friends, admittedly, but in that awkward high school boy way, where you pat each other on the back and talk about music and football. When that stopped and they started emailing, their conversations became so much more personal. It was like Dean saw Cas as his confidant, and, thinking about it, that’s exactly what he’s been.

Dean has been in Europe throughout the summer – he was across the sea. And… if he ever tried to snoop around and check whether Castiel felt anything towards him, Cas knew he didn’t find it. Because his feelings for Dean were left buried deep, deep inside the closet.

And more personal things. Details Castiel can’t imagine anyone knows except the two of them.

How Dean used to do card tricks in middle school. How he was actually embarrassingly good at that, before he took interest in music, and became incredibly good at that.

And there’s something else. That _troll_ line. _“If you call her baby doll, I hope she turns into a troll…”_

He hasn’t put all the clues together yet. And maybe it’s something in his gut more than it is a fact written in a song, but these lyrics have a feeling way too familiar to them. Not just familiar, but personal.

Dean might have been right when he told Crowley in the interview that you can’t just show people how much you care about them. But maybe directness isn’t the only way around this problem. Maybe he can nose around and see if Dean drops him any clues without having to admit his feelings and make it weird between them if he turns out to be wrong.

He types Dean’s email address into the Gmail search box and scrolls. He stops around August of last year, and starts scrolling more carefully.

_Troll. Troll, troll, troll…_

And that’s when he finds something he wasn’t looking for. He clicks open an email Dean wrote to him two and a half years ago.

 

**Ok. Hear me out.**

**Pie pool.**

**And I don’t mean a pool full of pies – I’m not that uncreative. I’m talking about a pool of jam and cream, and floating dough mattresses to hold you. Ugh. Wouldn’t that be amazing?**

**The paleontology museum? Fossils, Cas? _Fossils?_ I don’t think you could find anything more boring to be interested in. Hold on-- no, I can’t. You’re such a nerd, man. If I weren’t a big ass loser myself, lemme tell you, I don’t know how this friendship would have worked.**

 

_'I don't think you think that I'm more interesting than fossils.'_

Well.

That’s… Well. He didn’t even remember this conversation. But two emails before this one is what he was searching for:

**April? That troll you dated in high school? God, how I hated her. Do you even realize she metaphorically killed you? She carved your spirit into the shape of a bloody smiley.**

 

His next email to Dean is carefully phrased. He needs to get some more clues out of Dean – he needs something irrefutable, before he makes another move. A few _I do think you’re a good singer_ and _how is the Crush Situation coming along?_ later, and his days become an anxious wait for Dean to write him back. And this is so very different from the past years of waiting for the second his inbox updates. Any of their next emails could lead to Dean telling him how he feels, and then him telling Dean he feels it back, and then…

Who knows.

This time, it’s his stomach twisting and his heart rate rising and butterflies at the base of his throat. To imagine he used to go through this torture on a daily basis…

He hadn’t felt that way since the last time he saw Dean.

Dean’s next email comes an hour after the full audio release of his new album.

 

**15 Jan 2019, 22:44**

**From: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**To: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**Cas.**

**Can. You. Believe. It. I’m an artist! I mean, I know I already have one album out, but I feel like the second one makes it more official. Like a proof I’m not a one hit wonder. Are you proud of me? I know I’m not exactly Mr. Talk About Your Feelings, but your support really means a lot to me, man. So, thanks.**

**The crush situation… ugh, God. It sounds so small when you use the word “crush”, you know. Like, it’s not like I just like their haircut. It’s more like a “stay awake at night thinking about their laugh” situation. But yeah. I’m not sure I’m ready to take that step. There’s no coming back once you’ve Taken The Step.**

**But hey. Tell me what you think about the music! I know you’ll hate the baby one!! (:**

Dodgy bastard. He should have known – Dean is about as uptight about sharing his feelings as he is about his sexuality.

He will write another email – after listening to Dean’s new songs. They might have more clues in them. And except that… Dean’s actually really good. And his voice, his accent, the way he pronounces things all bring back memories Castiel usually tries to keep locked away in his past.

He finds out pretty quick what Dean meant when he said Cas would hate the baby song. It’s called _I’m Sorry but Your Baby is Ugly,_ and the melody is disturbingly beautiful.

 _You looked like you were going to punch me,_ Dean sings, his voice low and rough, _when I said that your baby is ugly. I’m sorry but your baby is ugly. I’m sorry but your baby is ugly, yeah._

The next song he finds out about through social media. It’s a video posted on Dean’s Instagram account, captioned _I consider THAT my coming out song._ The video is forty seconds long, a bit from the song playing in the background, and on the screen six words fly one after another, each hovering dramatically before disappearing, like they do in movie trailers: _NOTHING. LIKE. LIFE. IN. THE. CLOSET._

He’s starting to reconsider his earlier assertion about Dean’s uptightness about his sexuality and his privacy regarding feelings. And then he listens to another song, and it takes his breath away.

_So you touch girls to forget, and when they touch you back,_

_And kiss your neck, and pull your hair,_

_The mess in your head gets easy to bear, and it feels like he was never there._

*

 

**15 Jan 2019, 23:34**

**From: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**To: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**Dean…**

**I am proud of you. Your songs are amazing.**

**Did you know it's illegal to own just one guinea pig in Switzerland, because they get lonely? Here’s a random and irrelevant fact for you.**

**So, I have a problem. There's something I think I need to tell someone, but it might make it weird between us and I don't want to scare them away. I think, if we could just have an honest conversation… things might become so much simpler than they are now, but I’m afraid I’m completely wrong about the entire thing. What do you think I should do?**

**By the way… that someone is you.**

**Cas**

**16 Jan 2019, 22:07**

**From: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**To: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**Cas,**

**If we’re having an honest conversation, then I think there’s stuff I should say, too.**

**But yeah. Go ahead. Did you steal my fish? God, I always knew I should be careful around you with my fish.**

**You can tell me whatever you’d like. You won’t scare me away. I promise.**

**-D**

 

**16 Jan 2019, 22:18**

**From: Castiel S. <NotAnAngel@gmail.com>**

**To: Dean W. <PieLover24@gmail.com>**

**Dean,**

**Sorry to disappoint, but I am not the culprit.**

**This might make perfect sense, or it might come completely out of the blue. And if it does, then I wish it unsaid.**

**Here’s the thing. Remember in tenth grade, I was going through a rough time and you sat me down and asked what was going on and said I looked miserable? Well, it wasn’t Biology Hannah getting naked in front of me (as much as that freaked me out, it’s nothing I hadn’t seen before. In theory. Don’t make fun of me, please, this is serious). It was you. Not that you did something wrong – the complete opposite. You were just so… You. So overwhelmingly you. What I’m getting at is, that summer I think I… I fell in love with you. And I haven’t really recovered ever since. I know th**

The computer screen blackens, coming back to life after a second. A red message on the screen reads: _not connected. Try again in 4…3…2… seconds._

He presses **try again.**

_Not connected. Try again in 62 seconds._

**Try again.**

_Not connected. Try again in 4256 seconds._

“Ugh!” He checks the Wi-Fi connection. It’s gone. The laptop makes a little sound, and a notification reads: _low battery. Please charge your computer._

Not possible. He just charged it. He plugs it in again, but it’s no good.

Skipping down the stairs two at a time, he arrives at a neighbor’s door and knocks on it.

“I need to use your Wi-Fi or your computer,” he says breathlessly to the blond girl who opens the door. “Please.”

“Hi,” she says dryly, chewing gum with her mouth half-open. Her hair is braided tightly close to the scalp on one side, and lies loose on the other.

“Please.”

“Can’t,” she says. “There’s a blackout.”

“What? No. The lights are all-“ Darkness falls upon them and cuts him off in the middle of the sentence.

“Told ya,” the girl’s voice says. She pops her gum. _Pop._

“Oh, no, no, no…” He rushes up the stairs again, the voice behind him yelling “You’re welcome!”

Back in his apartment, he grabs his phone and opens Gmail, frantically refreshing the drafts section.

It’s not there. The email wasn’t saved.

And his phone is on eleven percent.

He runs down into the street, barely noting he’s out in his socks and T-shirt in 40 degrees. He heads over to another building, but it’s no use. The entire street is dark.

Standing on the sidewalk in the middle of the cold, lit by the gleam of the moon, he swipes his phone open and taps Dean’s name on the screen. He dials.

“Ye-llo,” comes Dean’s voice from the speaker, and Castiel’s thoughts freeze for a moment from just the sound of his voice.

“Dean,” he says.

“Cas. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes…”

“You never call.”

“I know. I-“ Dean waits for him to go on, but he doesn’t think he can. He never calls.

What is he doing? He never calls, and neither does Dean, and that’s just how things are; an unspoken agreement to keep the status quo. Why did he ever think to change that? Why couldn’t things just stay the same?

“Cas, I… I need to go.”

“Okay.”

“Is… there anything you wanted to tell me?”

His breaths come out of his mouth in small freezing puffs. “No. Just that I’m… I-“

His phone buzzes. He takes a look at it, pushes the home button, but nothing happens. He presses his finger to the on button for a while, and the screen comes to life. _Low battery. Charge to turn on._

“No,” he mutters. “Not now. Not now…” He presses the button again, but it’s no use. He goes back to his apartment, resigned, and throws his phone in the vague direction of the couch. It’s so dark inside that he can’t even see anything. He makes his way to his bed and slumps down on it.

It’s a sign. It must be. He tried to contact Dean in every possible way, and God is telling him to stop trying.

He closes his eyes, and the darkness deepens. He kicks his damp socks off his feet, pulls the blanket over his head, and falls asleep.

 

The blackout lasts three more days – the wind had knocked some pole down, and the entire street lost power. By the time the power is up again, Castiel has given up any hope of contacting Dean before he’s left the city. At this point, it doesn’t matter whether Dean wrote a stupid love song about him or not. He’s going to be out of town for months, and what kind of relationship could they have had with Dean always being away and busy, and Castiel always being right there, thinking about him?

It was never a thing to confess over the phone, anyway. “I love you”? Maybe. “I think you might love me back”? Perhaps. “I’ve been in love with you for over seven years, have wanted to kiss you every time you touched me, and have been wishing I could see you in person one more time in the past five years while you were just thinking of us as friends”? Not so much. In fact, he hadn’t realized how creepy it would have sounded if Dean turned out not to feel the same way.

So that’s about it. He won’t tell Dean how he feels. Everything will be like it was before, and he’ll just… never know whether he ever had a chance.

And he’s fine with that. Of course he is.

Of course.

Giving up before he even tries is alright, if he knows he’s about to fail anyway. Right?

There’s just a little voice in the corner of his head saying, _no._

_Even if you know you’ll fail, no. You still owe it to yourself to try._

 

*

The central train station is a whirl of wind and people and vehicles. Castiel storms through the crowd – through, past, under and over, with the occasional sideways skid. Down the escalators and onto the platform, he hops on a bench and scans the hall for a familiar face. And there, amidst the crowd, is Dean.

“Dean!” He yells. “Dean!”

He hops down from the bench and pushes towards his friend through the mass of people. Dean stands by the vending machine, reading the information on his ticket, and looking impossibly heartbreaking in what seem to Castiel as the plainest sweater and pair of jeans in the world. When Castiel calls his name, he looks up and their eyes meet.

“Cas,” he says, and it’s too loud around them and Castiel is still too far away to hear it, but Dean’s lips shape into the widest smile after saying his name.

“Dean,” he says back, breathing heavy, and he can’t even hear himself over the beating of his heart. Or maybe no sound comes out of his throat at all; he can’t tell.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks, still smiling, if confusedly.

“I just…” And he had this whole speech in his head, but now it sounds so incredibly silly that he finds himself at a loss.

“There was a blackout. The whole street…” He takes a moment to regain his breath, and realizes he has no rational explanation for running halfway across the city just to have a friendly conversation.

“I couldn’t reach you and I just… I really needed to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Dean asks, his voice seeping warmth, but he’s looking down. Down at his train ticket, squinting at it, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Dean, I-“

“What?” Dean looks around them, gaping at the signs above. “Cas, I think I’m… What platform is this?”

Castiel glances at a sign. “Nine.”

“Nine? I don’t need nine,” Dean yelps. “I don’t need nine. I need seven.”

“Okay. Seven is nearby. Stay close.” And with a gust of courage he takes Dean by the elbow and guides him through the crowd.

“What did you wanna say?” Dean shouts behind him, but he sounds so distressed that Castiel doesn’t think to do anything but get them to the right platform.

“We still have eleven minutes, Dean. We’ll make it.”

“I dunno, man.”

“Dean, listen…” He lets go of Dean’s elbow to take his hand, which turns out to be a mistake. In front of them appears an actual, real life marching band. A large, incredibly loud square within the chaotic crowd, they march on right in front of the two.

“Dean!” yells Castiel, looking around frantically. A moment later, he recognizes Dean’s panicked eyes. He’s standing a few feet away, buried within marching instrumentalists. He reaches his hand out, and Castiel pulls him from the bubble of music, keeping hold of his hand.

“I really need to tell you this,” he yells as he pulls Dean onto platform seven. “Dean, I…”

“Love you!” Someone shouts in front of them, and Dean turns away. “Dean, I love you!”

“Look,” he says, tugging on Castiel’s hand and pulling him forward. “Fan-“

“Girls!” Another teenager yells. “He’s here! I can’t!”

“…Believe this,” Castiel mutters. Dean lets go of his hand, and in a matter of seconds he’s swallowed in the huddle of fans. And in a matter of a few more seconds, he’s taking incredibly awkward selfies, signing chests – somewhat reluctantly, with a brief smile at Castiel – and that’s when he takes another look at his despaired friend, and suddenly he’s forgotten all about the chest the tip of his marker is touching.

“I’m in love with you,” Castiel shouts over the crowd, more frustrated than anything else. “I have been for the past seven years. And everything else…” People are pushing past him, hitting his shoulders as they pass. Fans are shouting over him, waving their hands at Dean. But it’s all in the background. “Everything else is just background noise.”

Dean’s eyes cling to him, an intensity in them with which no one’s eyes have ever touched his face before, and he knows Dean heard every word.

And then the train comes.

He manages to shoulder through the crowd, and he pushes Dean’s frozen chest. And then Dean is stepping backwards, dazed, and getting on the train.

The doors close behind him, but he’s still looking into Cas’ eyes. When the train starts moving, Dean’s eyes leave his face, and Castiel can breathe again.

 

*

 

**Cas?**

**Are you there?**

 

He’s sitting in his bed with a double cheeseburger, surrounded by piles of DVDs.

_Go away. I just want to watch Men in Black in peace. It reminds me of home._

_Only home reminds me of you._

_Every freaking thing reminds me of you._

Damn Dean Winchester and his heart and his words.

 

>Yes.

 

It feels weird, texting Dean. They’ve never done that, really, in all the time they’ve been apart. There was never any urgency, he supposes.

 

**We got separated like Simba and Nala. Tragic. So, about what you said… I think we should talk about that.**

>Forget it, Dean. I just… needed to get it off my chest, I guess. And I needed to do it in person. Never mind, now.

**Not never mind. Come on, I'm still a person. Just talk to me.**

**Cas?...**

**Cas?**

 

*

 

It’s been three weeks, and he hasn’t responded to Dean.

He had thought that the scariest thing in the world would be telling Dean how he feels. While he was on his way to the train station, he actually thought that this was as bad as it was going to get. But ever since he’s told Dean, he’s been feeling so much worse. He didn’t even want to know whether Dean felt the same way; he just wanted to lie in his bed and fill his mind with nothing at all.

But as the days passed, it became painfully apparent that Dean wasn’t in any rush to say those words back.                                                                                     

It’s Valentine’s Day, and the streets are colored pink and red. Castiel puts on his pants for the first time in a while, and locks the door behind him. He’s going grocery shopping.

Each freaking corner of the world seems to be decorated with flowers and heart-shaped paper cutouts today. People are kissing and smiling and buying each other chocolates. A girl smiles at him flirtatiously and he’s actually embarrassed for her for being as desperate as to hit on a guy in his pajamas and a dead look in his eyes at the supermarket.

Halfway through shopping, with piles of vegetables and whole grain bread in his cart, he empties it completely and refills it with Mac and Cheese packs and cocoa powder.

And then he empties it again and refills it with the healthy shit. He needs to move on. And the food doesn’t actually comfort him; it just makes him gassy.

He goes back home and slumps down on his bed.

He could have spent this day with any girl he would have wanted. The girl from the supermarket, for instance. And instead he’s home at four in the afternoon, not even thinking about Dean, but thinking about how freaking sad Dean makes him.

Or rather, the absence of Dean.  

He can hear furniture being dragged on the floor above him. The heating shuts off with a puff. Outside, some douchebag starts playing the guitar. Probably singing some cheesy love song for his girlfriend.

But then the douchebag starts singing, and Castiel sits up with such speed his head spins a little.

He recognizes this voice.

He’d recognize it anywhere.

  
_“I’d fly across the globe for you_

_Wear a dead man’s robe for you_

_I’d hold a sword and pick a fight_

_With ugly naked guys for you.”_

Slowly, he gets off his bed and stands up, frozen in place, listening.

 

_“I’d throw out all my plaid for you_

_Dye white roses red for you_

_I’d put my heart out on the line_

_Fall desperately bad for you_

_And you don’t even seem to care_

_Whether I am here or there_

_Never given me a sign_

_There’s some feelings we both share_

 

_Then a couple weeks ago_

_You just say all that and go_

_That’s not something that you do-_

God fucking dammit, just look out your window already!”

In response to that, someone across the road opens his window and shouts, “Shut the fuck up!”

Castiel walks to the window, dazed. He looks out from it, and Dean is kneeling in the dirt with his guitar and an expression so thoroughly insecure it looks like he’s hurting and Castiel can’t believe his voice can sound so rough and confident when he’s looking like that. And then he sees Cas, and that look disappears. What replaces it is a soft, hesitant smile. And he keeps singing.

_“Today it’s time for valentines_

_And you’re not mine, and that’s just fine_

_But I just couldn’t stand the thought_

_You could be happy, but you’re not._

  
_I realize it doesn't rhyme,_

_But we're both here and now it's time_

_To… maybe do some stuff_

_The entire neighborhood doesn't need to know about?”_

He puts down his guitar, and Castiel hurries down the stairs, hearing behind him through the window variant disgruntled neighbors use pretty harsh words to describe where Dean could go and what he should do with his guitar.

He steps outside into the lawn of his building. Dean watches him with eyes full of hope and worry as he approaches, reaching for his hand, but Castiel stops him.

“Before,” he says, his throat dry. “I need to know.” And he could swear somewhere in his head hide some finished sentences, but he lost them all the moment he saw Dean smile. “I need to know it’s not just wishful thinking. Is it about me?”

“Is… what about you?”

“The song. Your- erh… _I Still Wish_.”

Dean smiles, a sweet, quiet smile that’s somewhere between sad and amused and completely smitten.

“Cas, every fucking song is about you.”

He leans in and closes his eyes, and Castiel wraps an arm around his waist. And for the next few moments, all he can feel is the tips of Dean's fingers and the warmth taking over his chest. Everything else is just background noise.

 

*

 

**Hey, Cas?**

 

>Yes?

 

**Remember the first song I wrote?**

 

>“Can’t get you out of my head”.

 

**Yeah… That one was also about you.**

 

>Hold on. I’m googling the lyrics.

 

 

_“And I think I’m overthinking_

_And I feel I’m going mad_

_But our song was on the radio_

_And now your smile’s stuck in my head_

_And I think about that night,_

_About our fingers, intertwined,_

_And now your laugh replays in loops ‘round every corner of my mind.”_

_\- Can’t Get You Out of my Head_

**Author's Note:**

> To the special person in MY life, because every fucking song is about you.


End file.
